An Affair in Spirit
by cajuncoffee
Summary: Your choice of drink can say much about you.


"Well mate, that's it for me. I'm knackered."

Ron Weasley stood up from the couch, kissed his wife Hermione on the cheek, saluted a 'good night' to Harry Potter, then trudged up the stairs, announcing, "Good night all, and please don't stop the party on my account!" before disappearing into his and Hermione's bedroom.

Harry and Hermione echoed "G'night, Ron!" before settling back into their seats. These cozy, informal get-togethers didn't happen nearly as often as they used to, since the Golden Trio off and married almost two years ago—Ron and Hermione to each other, Harry to Ginny Weasley.

The bushy-haired witch stood up, "I think it's time for mulled mead. Would you like one?"

Harry chuckled, "Sure!"

She went into the kitchen and poured the drinks, returning with two glasses. Following their well-established ritual, she gave one to Harry and held the other as she sat on the end of the couch next to Harry's chair. "What shall we toast to?"

Not missing a beat, Harry answered, "To nights like these."

Hermione grinned in agreement, "To nights like these!"

Glasses clinked with a suitable clinking noise, and they downed their drinks. After a pause, Hermione said, "I'm glad I can drink this with you. Ron's not a fan."

Harry's shock was only slightly exaggerated. "He doesn't like mulled mead? We've been drinking it since your graduation!"

"I know, but—"She lowered her voice an octave in an attempt to caricature her husband, "_It's gross and unnatural!"_

They laughed, then sipped their drinks. After about a minute of silence, Harry began swirling his drink in his glass, finding the action enthralling. When he eventually looked up, he discovered that she had been staring at him. She quickly looked down to her drink. Harry paused, then said something that had been weighing on his mind.

"I'm going to miss you."

Hermione's jerked her gaze up to meet his, her voice with just the slightest bit of apprehension, "What are you talking about?"

Harry stammered in a low voice, "I mean…well…we knew that we wouldn't spend as much time as a group now…now that you're married—now that we're all married!…as much as we spent in Hogwarts." Harry shook his head—he wasn't explaining this right. "You know what I mean?"

Her only response was to look at him quizzically, so he lumbered on. "Well, I guess I just…I just miss you more than I thought I would—that's all!"

Her face was impassive for a moment—Harry realized he was holding his breath. She leaned forward and matched his hushed tone, "I understand, Harry. At Hogwarts, we had a dynamic as a trio, where the connections were shared equally between the three of us. Now, Ron and I have a different relationship with each than we each do with you, and it's become…asymmetrical…"

By now, Hermione was well and truly babbling. Her gaze remained locked on Harry's as her voice crawled to a whisper. Now, her brain had run out of steam as the two stared at each other, their faces centimetres apart.

Harry had imagined moments like this. He gently swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Not breaking his gaze, either, he whispered "I'm not invading your personal space, am I?"

Her reply lacked focus, "No…"

Harry leaned forward and gently touched his lips to hers. "Gently" he thought to himself. If he confined his advance to one quick peck, and she doesn't reciprocate, he can just apologize profusely say he simply wanted to know what it would be like to kiss her. Hopefully, she would accept his explanation and believe the kiss to be much more innocent than he intended or hoped.

What he didn't expect—not really-- was her fingers to wrap around the back of his head and pull him forward, her tongue crashing through his mouth. His mead dropped and forgotten, he encircled her waist and pressed her into him, kissing her for what seemed to be the better part of an hour. Finally, Hermione broke away, gasping for air. Harry found himself rather short of breath as well.

"Harry," she moved her hands to his shoulders, where they were not holding him at arm's length from her, "we can't do this."

Harry's eyes were still half closed. "Not even a little bit?"

Hermione moved her hands to his shoulders, where she could hold him at arm's length. "Not even a little bit."

He sighed, "You're right. We can't."

"You know," Hermione half-smiled, "I have a confession to make."

His eyebrows rose, "Mm?"

She blushed. "I've fantasized about this moment. I've felt this sort of tension between us since Hogwarts, and I know you have too—"

"I have—"

"--but we can't act on it. Not now. We're married. It's too late."

Harry removed her hands from his shoulders while he held them in his hands, "I know, Hermione, I know." His voice shook.

Her eyes began to glisten, "Oh Harry…"

He held her hands up in front of her, getting her attention to stave off more tears, "Hey, listen to me. I have a confession too."

"Mm-hmm?"

"I don't particularly like mulled mead."

Hermione was momentarily speechless. "What?"

"I don't like it. I only drink it when you offer it to me."

Her tears forgotten, Hermione was confused. "What? Why would you do that?"

Harry continued, his cheeks reddening, "A few reasons, I guess. It makes you so happy that you have someone to drink it with, and I like to see you happy."

"You're such an idiot." She was shaking her head, but she was smiling.

"Wait--it's not just that. When we both drink the same drink, when we both experience the same drink, I feel like it connects us. It's like a special bond between us, you know? I figure, if I can't be with you directly, I can be with you through…well, through mulled mead."

Hermione's befuddled stare slowly turned into a wide grin. "That's one of the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me." She looked at the goblets on the floor, as if seeing the drink for the first time. "Now whenever I have mulled mead, I'll think of you…of this night."

Harry leaned forward, his forehead pressing against hers. "Hey,"

"Now what?"

"Keep offering me mead, and I'll always know that you feel the same way."

"Keep accepting it, and I'll know you do too."

They held that pose in silence, foreheads touching, with silly grins plastered across their faces. When Harry straightened up, he saw that the tears in Hermione's eyes matched his own. Again, the witch stood up.

"Harry, it seems you've spilled your mead. Would you like another one?"


End file.
